


Chocolate Glazed with Sprinkles

by tatooedlaura



Category: The X-Files
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 04:28:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12522964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatooedlaura/pseuds/tatooedlaura
Summary: Donuts can cure everything if eaten with the proper person ...





	Chocolate Glazed with Sprinkles

The timing was perfect, planets were aligned, chakras were chakra-ed, snow was predicted, the sky was gray and dingy, and they, somehow, had the day off.

And they had the day off because the planets and the chakras and the snow and the gray had mellowed Mulder to the point of not getting dressed that morning, instead showing up on Scully’s doorstep, two dozen donuts in hand, wearing the sweats she knew he’d slept in and his thankfully showered hair half-frozen and wild. Answering the door, she simply stepped aside, ushering him in, already digging in the donut box for the glazed cream she knew she’d find. Nodding a ‘morning’, he beelined for the couch, kicking untied shoes off as he went, dropping his ass into the cushions as his feet fell to the table, stacked and ready for a day of absolutely nothing.

She, in turn, trailed behind, grabbing afghan as she went, tossing it over the pair of them as she plopped beside, feet mirroring his.

Nary a word was spoken.

Second donuts gone ten minutes later, Scully was just licking her fingers clean and debating a suggestion of coffee, hot chocolate or a nap when Mulder opened his mouth, intent on speaking the same damn suggestions in the same damn order when, instead of smooth voice and offer of laziness, came the shitty shrilled squawk of government issue cell phone.

Mulder simply dropped his head back on the cushions, “I will give you a thousand dollars if you don’t answer that.”

“You still owe me a thousand from the last time I didn’t answer.”

“But you did answer.”

“Yeah, but I knew you couldn’t pay me then either.” Deciding since he wasn’t going to answer the infernal device on the table to his right, Scully half-scaled him, groping for ringing nightmare and finally answering, draped, to Mulder’s amusement, over his lap, “we are calling in sick.”

Halfway across town, Skinner shut his eyes, wondering if he wanted to dwell on the ‘we’ or get right to business. Then he heard a scuffle that he could only assume was Mulder trying to get the phone away from her and subsequent hissed swearing drove him straight to, “you’ve got a case. See you in 30 minutes.”

And he hung up.

Scully looked at Mulder, face now smashed into the back of the couch and his right arm held behind his back, her knee along his spine, “he hung up on me.”

“Does that mean we don’t have to go in?”

Loosening her hold on him, she sat back on her heels, giving him room to twist and sit back up, “we have half an hour.”

Reaching for another donut, “then I hope he doesn’t mind me showing up like this.”

&&&&&&&&&

Mulder did not show up in his sweatpants, due more to Scully’s insisting eyebrow that he put on real pants than his need to have any kind of professional decorum on what should have been his vegetating day on Scully’s couch.

Although, thinking back, he really should have just kept his sweatpants on and thrown the phone against the wall the moment it started ringing.

&&&&&&&&&&

Mulder was the consummate professional when it came to an actual crime scene. He was meticulous, fastidious and obnoxious with evidence, testimonies, witnesses … he drove others mad with his detail.

Local puffed chest deputy sheriffs with chips on their shoulders and irrational irritation against Mulder’s mind, however, grated every single nerve. He put up with the latest one as long as humanly possibly but by day four of their case, he was tweaked with fury, muscles tight, stretched to the breaking point and at this worst possible moment, he lost it.

Scully heard his voice carrying from down the hall and around the corner of the station. Choosing to wait a moment or three to see if she needed to go break something up, the shouted words of ‘fucking jackass’ moved her from her chair and to her partner. Arriving in time to see him in unmistakable precursor punching status, leg bent, fist clenched, she stepped in, saw him flinch back at his line of sight intrusion and knowing he wouldn’t do anything in the moment, turned to the man on the receiving end of FBI rage, “you need to leave.”

“It’s my …”

She cut off his already heated voice with her own, low and weighted in authority, “leave … now.”

In the deathly silence that filled the room, he held his ground for nearly three seconds, then deflated, turned tail and disappeared into a darkened room, the door slam echoing clear.

Turning then to her partner, “okay?”

He knew she wouldn’t ask more, both settled in their comfort of each other; Scully leaving him alone, heading back to her stack of photos while he took a deep breath to continue his own chaotic reverie, the end of the case so close he could taste it.

&&&&&&&&&&

Skinner called them on the carpet not an hour after they landed, luggage in hand, car still a distant thought on a third-floor parking structure somewhere. Arriving in Skinner’s office, one look at Kimberly told them this was going to be neither quick nor painless.

And it wasn’t.

Official reprimand for issues Mulder didn’t argue against recorded for posterity sake and pay review time, Scully tried to stay behind and fight for him but in front of God and Skinner, Mulder took her hand, kissed her forehead and pulled her from the room, unspoken words louder than anything she could have said.

&&&&&&&&

She showed up at his house two hours later, pajamas firmly in place, ends tucked into wet boots, donuts in one hand, hot chocolate in the other. Quietly, he shut the door behind her, watching as she first chucked off footwear, then moved to the couch. After setting her items on the coffee table, she turned around, beckoning him over with crooked pointer finger.

Obeying, he stopped in front of her and silence still between them, she reached up, palms to cheeks, fingers along temples. Holding his face for an impossible moment, she then pulled him down to meet her mouth, lips testing his and finding them favorable, kept the connection a little longer …

then dropped back to five foot three, flat-footed stature, turning to sit on the cold leather cushions, wool socks tucked under folded thigh. Tugging on the knee of his sweats, “I bought you a chocolate glazed with sprinkles.”

Standing there, looking down at her, he didn’t care so much about work anymore, the smallest of smiles turning up the left side of his mouth, the right side ten seconds behind, paralyzed in its own beautiful dream. His smile grew in time with hers and finally sitting down, “are we taking tomorrow off?”

“I don’t plan on leaving this couch until well into Thursday afternoon.”

Finding his donut, “movie?”

“Several,” with the room getting darker, the snow piling up and the wind beginning to howl, she settled against him, heavy on his arm, “and a nap.”


End file.
